In Which
by Napisala
Summary: A collection of short stories and drabbles exploring the dynamics of Team Gibbs, as well as the personalities of the individual characters. T rating for now, subject to change in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: Each chapter of this little venture stands alone unless otherwise specified. And as you'll see, these don't all take place in the same universe, so there's no continuity. Episode tags will be given if appropriate (and if I remember). There may eventually be some slash, but it will be clearly stated if I go that route. Fair warning, this will probably end up fairly Tony-centric because he's my favorite. All that said, I hope you enjoy!_

_Disclaimer: I'd love to write for NCIS, but I don't. Not mine._

1. One…

**In which Tim explains a grammatical conundrum.**

"Isn't that an oxymoron?"

"…what is?"

"What you just said," Bishop reminded as she adjusted her position on the floor, "about being like a family, that you're dysfunctional but it works."

"_We're _family," Tim chided with a smile. "You're one of us now."

Ellie huffed at his patronizing tone and responded in kind. "Yes, I know. We. Us. Family. But something that is dysfunctional by definition does not work. So your comment about a dysfunctional family that works is an oxymoron."

"What's your point?"

Ellie's brows knit in confusion. "Huh? I just made my point."

"Okay, so it's an oxymoron, so what?"

"So…it doesn't make any sense."

Tim smirked and shrugged casually, "it doesn't have to make sense, Bishop. It just is."

Rolling her eyes and preparing to put her earbuds back in, Ellie scoffed quietly. "Never mind, McGee. Forget I asked."

"I'm not trying to blow you off, I swear. That's just how it is. I'm not sure how else to explain it."

"So this team is an oxymoron that functions in a dysfunctional manner?"

Another shrug. "Pretty much, yeah." McGee had intended to leave it at that. Bishop seemed to have accepted the non-answer as the last word anyway. And really, what more was there to be said?

Certainly Tim had accepted the concept of team as family years ago, though it was much later than that that he'd been convinced of his own place within the family. But talking about it felt so damn _awkward_, delved into feelings that only rarely received the barest of consideration and were never expressed. Not in _words _anyway. Still, something made him try with the young probie.

"It's just…it really shouldn't work, you know? All our personalities are so different, if we'd met up anywhere else, we wouldn't gel like we have here. But here we have each other's sixes. We have our quirks, we aggravate and exasperate each other but knowing everyone goes home safe at night just…it matters. And I can't imagine what my life would look like if I didn't look forward to seeing them again the next day."

Any reply Bishop was poised to make was cut off by Gibbs sweeping into the bullpen. "Well, I was looking forward to either of you getting a fix on Petty Officer Randall's location. What've you got?"

"Uhh, no hits on the BOLO we put out and no activity so far on the cell phone or credit cards registered to him. But right now I'm compiling data of all his previous activity and inputting that into this program that will factor in specified-"

"McGee!"

"We got nothing, Boss." Tim's eyes are still wide from Gibbs sharp expression of exasperation, shoulders tight in anticipation of the man's response.

"See how you did that in three words, Tim?"

Sarcasm. Probably the best possible outcome. Tim sneaks a peek at Ellie's face before turning his attention back to his computer, gratitude adding a dose of speed to his fingers flying over the keyboard.


	2. Chapter 2

2. Two.

**In which Abby does some reflecting…**

"So so so so SO itchy!"

Abby wondered absentmindedly how Gibbs would react if she asked him to bring her some sandpaper at work tomorrow. "Probably wouldn't bat an eyelash, knowing him."

The thought of her silver haired fox makes her smile for a few moments but it's not long before her itchiness pushes its way to the front of her consciousness. She pulls her shirt up over her head roughly and practically flings it at the coffin before pouting at her reflection in the mirror. What starts out as a deep cleansing breath ends up as more of a huff and Abby stomps across the room, stripping clothes off along the way.

She's naked by the time she crosses the threshold into the bathroom, thankful not to feel fabric rubbing against her skin any longer. She's on autopilot as she turns on the shower and checks the temperature, her mind tumbling a million miles away with one persistent refrain:

"I hate change."

Warm water pelting her skin is a relief and Abby lets her brain flit from one supposition to the next as she goes through her routine in the shower.

'What kind of name is Delilah anyway? How did they even meet? And seriously, the DOD? Since when did McGee turn into such an alphabet whore? Lord only knows who she really works for. That All-American good girl thing she's got going is probably just some undercover persona. She's probably a spy from New Zealand or Lithuania or Iceland or something because if you're from out of town on a top secret mission, Timothy McGee is the man you want to lure into a fake relationship.'

The corners of her lips turn down slightly as she steps out of the shower. "That was unkind. …I mean, yeah it could possibly be true but still, not very kind."

The towel gets tossed into the hamper and Abby returns to her room, her bare feet padding softly across the carpet this time. She's back in front of the mirror, still naked, pale skin flushed lightly pink and fading from the warm shower and subsequent terrycloth rubdown. Side to side her body twists as her emerald eyes trail over her own curves and valleys, contemplating them absentmindedly, not coming to any particular conclusions.

Tim had always liked her breasts, she remembers as she cups them in her palms. Awkward as he could sometimes be back then, he had never failed to tell her and show her how much he appreciated her body. How much he appreciated her. It was an intoxicating feeling, that appreciation. And McGee could always be counted on for the occasional hit through the years, long after their romantic relationship had ended.

"This is definitely a nightgown kind of night."

Abby slips the short silky nightgown over her head and smoothes down the hem, just barely skimming the curve of her ass. She takes her time rubbing rich lotion into her skin and by the time she's ready to climb into the coffin she's realized a few things. She may not be the marrying type, but anytime she's indulged in that sort of thinking it's always been Tim on the other side of that dream. Dear, sweet, serious Timothy McGee whose touches were nearly reverent, who never labeled her, never asked her to be anything or anyone but herself, who was honest and funny and loyal and brave. The idea of building a life on such a fine foundation was comforting but at the same time frightening enough to make her believe that such dreams were destined to remain in Morpheus' arms.

Most importantly, she reminded herself that Tim was her friend and she was his. Whatever else was or had ever been or could ever be, they would always be friends. This was comforting and not at all frightening. She resolved to be nicer to Delilah the next time they met, Icelandic spy or not. Her friend McGee deserved no less. Some things, after all, never changed.


	3. Chapter 3

3. Three.

Episode tag: Singled Out

A/N: I've got a few scenarios in mind, so there will likely be several references to this post-Hiatus time period and specifically to this episode

**In which Tony returns before his deadline is up…**

"Tony, smile, this is a good thing."

A smile graces the Italian's features, though it's not one that reaches his eyes. "It is a good thing. A very very good thing."

Jenny smiles indulgently and steps around her desk. "Yes, Tony, a very good thing that I expected you to be much happier about."

Tony's smile slants into more of a sheepish grin as he rubs the back of his head. "Yeah, about that…see, it is a good thing, I know it is. And I hope you know how grateful I am for this opportunity…it's just not an easy thing. If that makes sense at all."

"It does."

Tony snorts disbelievingly, "really? 'Cuz I feel like an idiot"

"I don't offer Team Lead positions to idiots, Agent DiNozzo." The teasing quirk of lips on the Director's face takes any heat out of her words.

Tony smiles a little more genuinely but he can't help sighing at the same time. He _is _happy. And grateful, he really hopes that Jenny understands how grateful he is. But gratitude, it seems, is a double edged sword, because that feeling is putting a damper on his happiness.

Gibbs.

Gibbs was the first person to truly believe in one Anthony D. DiNozzo, Jr. Sure, Tony had already been a good cop when he'd tackled the gruff marine in a Baltimore back alley. But once he'd come to NCIS and worked under the man, worked _with _him - he'd been held to a higher standard. One that seemed impossible at times, but Gibbs had shown in deed if not in word that he'd always expected Tony to meet it. Knew that Tony was capable of meeting it.

That the opportunity to demonstrate how well he'd followed Gibbs' lessons came as a direct result of intense trauma and tragedy in his Boss' life took the shine off any sense of accomplishment. Instead he couldn't help feeling like he was abandoning ship. Over the last few days, Tony had struggled with the thought that Gibbs wasn't as recovered as he'd like them all to believe. He was still convinced that not all the memories were back but ultimately decided to trust his boss. Gibbs knew enough to know how to do his job, still cared enough about the people around him and the quality of his work that he wouldn't have returned to NCIS unless he was certain that he could do the job.

And so it made sense to leave. Even felt right in his gut after he'd chewed on it for a few days. Jenny believed in him. 'Exemplary performance,' she'd said. Her trust in him was no small matter; she was, after all, just the _second _person to believe in him enough to back her words up with actions.

"Tony," her voice broke into his musings. "For what it's worth, I think this is a good move for you. I'm confident you're going to excel in your new role."

"Thank you, Director."

"Jenny."

The carefree grin she'd been hoping for all along finally made an appearance. "Jenny, seriously, thank you."

* * *

Jenny had understood his conflicted emotions. It only made sense, she had been in nearly the same situation with the very same Lead Agent, after all. She'd patiently allowed him to talk himself in circles, addressing his insecurities and mixed feelings in only the vaguest of language and then reassured him firmly but not unkindly. Tony left her office feeling much better than he had when he'd entered it to deliver his 'good news'. As he did, he realized with some surprise that he would miss the relaxed camaraderie they'd begun to develop and the way that visits to her office often ended with a friendly chat.

Before he exited, Tony had asked for the right to tell Gibbs about his promotion, which Jenny had granted without hesitation. Tony had immediately driven to Gibbs' house, and that's where he now found himself: sitting in the car parked up the block. This had to be done tonight, he knew. Jenny may have guaranteed her circumspection, but paperwork had to be processed related to his transfer, and the loose lips in HR were not to be counted on for their discretion.

No, Gibbs deserved to hear this direct from the source and not from secondhand scuttlebutt. Which is why Tony finally opened the door to get out of the car. He wasn't sure how he or his news would be received, but his chances weren't improving any sitting out here.

"Boss?" Tony had opened the door like normal but hesitated to go much further without announcing his presence to the marine. He followed the sound of Gibbs' answering call down to the basement, as expected.

"Hey Boss!" He grinned widely as he loped down the stairs, hoping that his affable tone would mask the butterflies making their home in the distinct region of his gut. Judging by the senior agent's arched eyebrow, it hadn't masked it well enough to pass his BS-meter.

"DiNozzo."

"So, Boss, you all settled in yet? Got the place nice and homey and cozy, or…well, not that it was ever cozy or anything. I mean-"

"You having trouble finding a period for that sentence, DiNozzo?"

"Uh, no Boss, I found it, and its name is Gibbs."

That earned a smirk, which still felt like a victory to Tony; it probably always would. He watched Gibbs putter around the basement for a bit; he seemed to be sorting his tools, examining them and then putting them in their place. It felt like things were going back to normal again, just sitting here like this. But then he realized with sudden clarity that this would no longer be his normal. He would have to tread a new path and establish new normals and this - this man's presence in his life - would never be the same again. The thought stole his breath for a moment, so that just as Tony decided this was something best mourned later in the privacy of his own apartment, he looked up to find Gibbs staring right back at him.

"What's on your mind, Tony?"

"Me, boss? Nothing on my mind, you'd probably say there never is, except for women maybe and-"

"Spit it out, DiNozzo. Preferably sometime today."

"Right, today, sure thing Boss." He levered himself off his spot on the stairs with a short huff, feeling that this conversation should happen eye-to-eye though not really understanding why. "Well, you see, the thing is that I needed to talk to you. In person, that is. I felt that you should hear from me that um, well I'm…I've got new orders and I'm leaving."

Gibbs' blue eyes sharpened to mere slits and he broke in before Tony could continue. "Leaving to where?"

"Europe. Spain, specifically. The Director offered me a position and I accepted the transfer. Rota, Spain, and my own team."

The expression on Gibbs' face changed slightly, but not enough for Tony to decipher what it meant. "How long?"

"I report to the Rota office in three weeks. I'll work here through the end of next week and then I have some time to make arrangements for the move till I have to start my new job."

No change in expression this time and Tony barreled on before a pause could become a silence. "Look, Gibbs, I know you're not big on the talking and feelings and stuff but if you just let me get this out once, I promise you we'll never have to do this again and I won't even tell anyone that it ever happened.

You see, the thing is…I owe you everything. I wouldn't be in this spot if you hadn't made me a better investigator. But you've made me a better man, too. And I want you to know that the lessons you've taught me won't be forgotten. They mean everything to me. You…you mean- well, yeah, I think you get it."

Gibbs had to clear his throat before a grunt that resembled "Mhmm." This time there was a silence, a weighty one, but at least it wasn't heavy with tension or anxiety, just a profound sense of emotion. Gibbs stuck his hand out and grasped Tony's firmly, "Congratulations, DiNozzo."

Tony grabbed it in return and clung to it as he looked into clear blue eyes and catalogued all the things his Boss was saying that would never be uttered aloud. He ducked his head and blushed a bit as their hands separated, jamming his in his pockets. The unaccountable feeling of relief washed over him so deeply that he rocked on his heels, glad that he'd gotten this over with and pleased with their wordless conversation more than anything else.

Feet shuffling and gesturing vaguely toward the stairs with one shoulder, Tony began, "Anyway, that was it. Just wanted to -"

"Got a steak defrosting upstairs. Was gonna grill it in the fireplace but it's kinda big for one."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mhmm. Practically a brontosaurus steak, actually." Tony smiled at the reference and Gibbs felt his own lips tilt upwards. Purely on one side, of course. "Think you'd like to hang around long enough to share?"

The brightness of his smile was almost blinding, "yeah, Boss, I'd like that."

"Go on then, put the steak out on the counter and start the fire up for me. Be right there."

Gibbs clasped the back of Tony's neck briefly as he passed by, and watched him jog up the stairs through the door. He heard the soft rattle of beer bottles when Tony opened the fridge to take the steak out. A few more tools were put away for form's sake before Gibbs paused. He scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed deeply, allowing himself a moment of bewilderment. It was soon cut off, ruthlessly so, in fact. Gibbs schooled his features and climbed the steps to join his SFA.


	4. Chapter 4

4. Four

In Which Tony responds to a different sort of proposition…

"Why not?"

"It's a bad idea."

"How many times in your life has that actually stopped you?"

"Truthfully? Not very many."

"So…"

"Soooo…it's a really really bad idea."

"How so?"

"Jenny. Seriously? There are a multitude of ways in which this is a bad idea! Sands in the Sahara amount of reasons why it just should not happen."

His face went from wide-eyed earnestness to a withering glare when the Director just smirked at him over her coffee cup. "This isn't funny."

"Fine then, Tony; name one."

"One?"

"One reason. The biggest one. The sandcastle, if you will."

"I don't think you could actually build a sandcastle in the Sahara, you know, with the lack of water and then all that wind, it'd probably-"

"Tony!" Her tone was exasperated but a hint of a smile still played at the corner of her mouth. "Okay, then give me the sand storm reason."

The Italian sat back in his seat with a grin, "you're good at this."

"And you are avoiding the question."

A roll of the eyes, "damn, you're good at this." Having realized there was no way to talk himself out of a straight answer, Tony considered his words carefully before he began to speak again. "Rule twelve-"

"Is a Gibbs rule. Need I remind you where Gibbs is at the moment?"

"No, of course not."

"I'm no flower, Tony, I won't wilt if you tell me no. Just give me the real reason."

"Already did."

"Tony-"

"Jenny." Tony reached over and took her hand before she could get into the rant he could see coming a mile away. "You don't have to remind me where he is because he's right here." Her fingers twitched to slip away from his but he held on tighter. "Physically, yes, I know he's in Mexico. But mentally, he's right here. With both of us, I'm sure. Man may never have learned how to use his words but he sure knows how to leave his mark."

She had relaxed enough that he could loosen his hold, thumb soothingly brushing across the side of her upturned palm. Her gaze had been locked there but at his assessment of their wayward agent she let out a scoff of a laugh.

"Jethro is like a sandstorm, come to think of it…overwhelming, irritating, steamrolling over everything in its' path."

Tony smiled softly in reply and they shared a contemplative silence.

"It's just -"

"I know."

"Right, of course you do. I mean, I'd feel -"

"Tony, I know."

Realizing, finally, that no further words were needed, Tony turned Jenny's hand in his to a grip more like a handshake and released it after one last stroke of his thumb across her knuckles, walking towards the office door. Of course she understood. Tony honestly couldn't be more relieved. A meeting that started with the mother of all bad ideas somehow managed to end on a fairly good note. Tony was unused to such success in conversations with either women or his superiors - he couldn't believe his good luck. He turned back before exiting and they shared a companionable smile as he shut the door behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

**5. Five**

**In which Tony & Tim compare scars…**

"I don't think I understand."

"What's not to understand, McCurious?"

"It just…it doesn't make sense, Tony. I mean, yeah, of course I get…urges like any other man, but the thought of doing that with anyone but Delilah…I just couldn't. So if you're not over Ziva, how can you?

"I'm not cheating on anyone, Tim." There's a hard edge to Tony's voice glinting just under the surface of its silken glibness.

"I know that. I never said you were. I only said I don't understand."

"Well yeah, of course you've got it all wrong if you're comparing your situation to mine. They're completely different."

"What's so different about it? We're both here and the women we love are on the other side of the world."

"McGee, the woman you love is your girlfriend. Yes, she made a choice to leave but she also made a choice to continue this relationship long distance, you both agreed to that. The two of you talk on a regular basis. It's not easy, but you're both working on it. You know where you stand with one another."

Tim was beginning to see where Tony was going with this and he was almost sorry he'd initiated the conversation. But he was genuinely curious and the simple fact that Tony was talking about it instead of deflecting his inquiries with a caustic remark told Tim that maybe his partner needed to get this stuff off his chest anyway.

"You've made promises to each other. Ziva…she and I haven't made any. I asked her to come home with me but she couldn't do that. And she wanted to embark on this whole new journey of being and I couldn't be a part of that either. She doesn't know who she'll be at the end of that journey. Who knows if or how we could love each other then. There's just…nothing. No guarantees, no promises or agreements.

So I'm here living my life and she's out there following her dreams and hopefully finding herself in the process. And, I mean, on an intellectual level, I am so proud of her for being brave enough to turn her world inside out and seek out her own happiness. But I also can't deny that there's a big part of me that just sees her as the latest in a long line of people who've walked out of my life."

Grateful as he was for all the insights, Tim did feel bad that the conversation had turned so melancholy, his friend's measured tones not fully masking the pain that just saying Ziva's name appeared to evoke.

"Tony, I didn't think -"

"What, McPiner, that I'd ramble on so much? I come by my gift of gab honestly, good old-fashioned genetics."

And there went the much-anticipated deflection.

"Aw Tony c'mon, don't be like that. Don't shut down on me now."

"Oh ho ho! Way to be dramatic there, McGee. What's next, we sit on the couch and watch soap operas?"

"What _is_ next for you, Tony? I mean, being as you guys haven't made any promises."

Tony pursed his lips as though he didn't want to answer but he soon began to speak anyway. "Still figuring that out, I guess. Gotta figure out my own path and then take it, regardless of anyone else."

'If only things were different,' Tim mused. Life could be so much easier, better for both of them.

"Wish it wasn't so hard, loving someone. Sometimes I think it should come together much more naturally than it does."

"Ahh, Tim. If wishes were Mustangs, we could ride forever."

* * *

A/N Thanks for reading. Reviews are appreciated.


	6. Chapter 6

6. Six

Episode Tag: Requiem

Author's note: Most stories by pro-Tony authors that tag this episode tend to take the slant that Gibbs never even bothered to thank DiNozzo for saving his life. I prefer to think the opposite, though Gibbs would have done it in his own gruff way. So consider this to be an epistolary of sorts, what I believe happened 'off-camera' in the actual NCIS universe. Hope their voices still ring true.

**In which Gibbs acknowledges a job well done...**

Tony was puttering about in his kitchen, adding another spoonful of sugar to his coffee when he heard his door being opened. The fact that keys were being used instead of lock-picks told him that his visitor was Gibbs before the silver haired man stepped thru the door.

Deciding to pretend that this occasion wasn't the least bit unusual, Tony called out a greeting. "Mornin', Boss. Coffee?"

He also decided to pretend that his boss wasn't assessing his health as his gaze swept over his pallid skin, easily visible as he prepared the coffee wearing only sweatpants and no shirt. Gibbs took a seat at the small table and Tony joined him with two steaming mugs of coffee moments later.

They each sipped their coffee in a mostly companionable silence that Tony was determined not to break. He gave himself an inner fist pump when Gibbs spoke first.

"How you feel, DiNozzo?"

Tony had spent a few hours at the hospital reacquainting himself with an oxygen mask, but once the x-rays had come back showing his lungs were clear he'd been sent home with orders to rest, use his nebulizer once daily for the next week and contact his doctor at the first sign of a cold or fever. Frankly, he felt as though he could rest for the next century, so bone-deep was his exhaustion. A full night's sleep hadn't taken the edge off his weariness, though he'd awoken once or twice to nightmares of his boss trapped in the murky depths of the Potomac.

"Not too bad, Boss. How about you?"

"Feel alive, thanks to you."

A faint blush tinted pale cheeks even as panic began to set in - Tony's instinctive reaction to nice-Gibbs. 'Did something else happen? Is there bad news I don't know about?'

"Boss-"

Gibbs reached over to tap his agent on the chin gently, affectionately; the amusement in his eyes clear indication that he understood Tony's current predicament.

"Just needed to come by and see you, thank you for havin' my six. What you did, Tony, that went above and beyond." He drained his cup of coffee and levered himself out of the chair before Tony could react, careful not to overcrowd his young friend.

A gentle ruffling of hair on the way by, surreptitiously checking for elevated temperature and satisfied to find him on the mend if not entirely healthy, Gibbs made for the door.

"Get some more sleep, DiNozzo, you look like crap." His fingers had just reached for the doorknob when he heard his name called from the kitchen.

"I'm even better at having your six when you keep me in the loop, Gibbs."

Bright green eyes met his stare directly, without wavering yet also without judgment or accusation. A simple statement of fact, a mild chastisement and a heartfelt request in one neat little package.

Gibbs' voice was quiet and clear in reply. "Yeah. Duly noted, Tony."

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

Episode Tag: Internal Affairs

**In which honesty is best even if it's painful**

"Was any of it real?"

It was so tempting to say no, to give her one more reason to hate him and move on with her life. Tempting to have one more reason to hate himself, stomping on his own heart for ever falling prey to the alluring promise of such an ill-fated love.

His hand shot out to grab the elevator when the doors began to close and he stepped in wordlessly, jamming the button for the second floor. He could feel Jeanne's incredulous glare boring into the back of his shoulder. When the doors opened again on two, he gestured the agent off with a jerk of his neck, interrupting the man before he could protest.

"You'll meet her at the entrance. Now go."

Only when he'd gotten the elevator going again and pressed the stop button did Tony turn to face his former lover. His heart ached at the despairing look in her eyes and the distance between them that could never be bridged. He could never comfort her again.

"Yes, some of it was real." Most of it, he corrected mentally.

Jeanne's face contorted then, more tears slipping from her eyes even as she lashed out in rage. "Liar! You've done nothing but lie to me since the day I met you."

"I did tell you lies, yes. But I did care for you, Jeanne. Telling you that I loved you, that wasn't a lie, but it was a mistake. I cared for you with everything I could give. But I couldn't give you my loyalty, because that was here. My loyalty is still here, and I know my love was worthless without it."

They stared at each other then, intense gazes cataloging red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained features. Jeanne was the first to look away and Tony wasted no time setting the elevator back in motion.

He couldn't tell if he'd made things better or worse for her, knowing that his love had been real. But perhaps in the long run it would keep her from doubting herself when she found love with another.

He held the door open for her and they didn't speak as she brushed past him, his eyes tracking her steps until her escort led her out of the building and out of his sight. Forever.


	8. Chapter 8

**In which...the heart of the matter is elusive**

The good doctor tried so very hard not to react, really he did, but he could not help but release a sigh of exasperation. Forty-five minutes ago, such a sigh may have been tinged with more good humor but now there was a good deal of frustration expressed in the exhalation.

"Agent DiNozzo. Tony. I don't see why you insist on stonewalling me. I realize that none of the agents particularly enjoy going to the psychiatrist by agency mandate. You just want to do your job, and so do I. If you are ready to return to work then I sign your release so you can do that. And if not, I want to help you become fit for duty."

Anthony DiNozzo, Jr. was an enigma. With his bright smile, charming manners and gift for gab, he gave the appearance of being an open book when he was anything but. Dr. Paul Jenson was not fooled, and where he'd originally found the agent's sense of humor amusing, that, too, was now anything but.

"Let me ask you, doc, how normal do you think it is to hear gunshots or an explosion and run toward the source instead of away from it?"

"It certainly isn't the average person's response but it is in line with your training. I'm not here to hold you to some false standard of normalcy."

The agent grinned widely but this time the doctor could see it reach his eyes.

"I like you, doc. Okay, PJ - can I call you that? I like it, it's got good flow - anyway, PJ, here's the deal: you've got five minutes. Ask me whatever you want and I promise to give you a straight answer."

Dr. Jensen eyed his visitor with a wary expression. "Really?"

"Yes, really. Four minutes and fifty-three seconds."

"Are you going to count down after every response?"

"Only if you insist on asking such lame questions. I'm beginning to reevaluate my opinion of you, PJ. Four minutes and forty-five seconds."

"What made you change your mind and decide to actually give me your time?"

"You made a good point and I respect your commitment to your job. You seem to be a pretty straight-shooting kinda guy for all that you're a shrink, so I figured I'd be straight-up with you too."

"Do you think you're fit for duty, Agent DiNozzo?"

"Come on, PJ, the least you can do is call me Tony! And yes, I do. Not because I've put everything that happened out of mind, but because I haven't. I think the day that you can see the things we do on a regular basis and not be disturbed by it is the day you should quit, because you've lost your humanity. You don't forget, you just learn how to cope."

"And have you learned how to cope?"

"Who, me? PJ, I'm a walking, talking coping mechanism."

"That's an interesting way to describe yourself."

"And that is not a question. Two minutes and twenty-five seconds."

"Do you have a death wish?"

"No."

Quick answer, no hesitation or prevarication - a truth, then. Still, there was a reaction, a brief narrowing of the agent's eyes, Paul knew he was close to the heart of the matter.

"Your record appears to suggest otherwise."

"Again, not a question. Your leading statements don't count, doctor."

On edge. Definitely close.

"Why is it that you're injured so often if you don't have a death wish?"

"I have a dangerous job."

Dr. Jensen couldn't hold in his sigh. Again. Most unusual for him, but Tony DiNozzo was unusually good at aggravating the object of his interest, or disinterest as it were.

"Yes, that's true. But we both know you are injured more often and more seriously than the average agent-"

"Well, there's your problem, PJ - I'm no average agent!"

"Are my five minutes up, then? Because you were the one who volunteered five minutes of straight answers and I had taken you for a man of your word."

The barb clearly hit its mark and DiNozzo was affected, he sighed heavily. "Sorry, Doc. Old habits die hard."

Paul regarded him sympathetically but refused to back down. "Tell me why. Please." The last word added as he could see the inner struggle make itself known in the agent's body language.

"We all make choices. You chose your job and I chose mine, maybe even for some of the same reasons. Sometimes, my choices have life or death consequences. I've learned to live with that, and I'm willing to die like that, too."

"Have you ever questioned that willingness to die? Perhaps you've taken your duty too far, at the price of your personal safety."

Tony rolled his eyes and huffed out a laugh. "I'm sure you've got a profile in front of you that says I'm a risk-taker, it'll probably tell you that I'm incautious and reckless, too. It's not completely wrong, I do take risks, and if you've never worked with me before, they probably do seem thoughtless and rash. Hell, even the people I work with on a daily basis sometimes think I'm an idiot.

But I do weigh the risks - every single time. I take stock and I figure out what needs to be done and I do it. No regrets, there isn't time in that kind of situation. And if that means that my 'personal safety' gets shot to shit, I think it's worth it to protect my partner, save a victim or take some terrorist or murderer or any of the other assorted bad guys we deal with out of commission."

"What value are you giving your own life, then? How do you weigh in the balance?"

The agent didn't flinch at the inquiry, to his credit. His only response, in fact, was an insouciant grin that slowly overcame his features. "Hate to tell ya, PJ, but your five minutes are up."

* * *

A/N: Many thanks for the encouragement and reviews.


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